


Difficult Questions (Arresting Santa)

by okeydokey (LilMissNerdfighter)



Series: Merry Christmas from 221B [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, So much fluff it's not even funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMissNerdfighter/pseuds/okeydokey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something has been bothering Hamish about Santa, and fortunately for him, he has two parents who are very knowledgeable about the subject in question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Difficult Questions (Arresting Santa)

‘How does Santa deliver presents, if we don’t have a chimney?’ asked Hamish, twirling a candy cane in his hands. He was sitting cross legged on the kitchen table (occupying what little space wasn’t taken up by Sherlock’s experiments), watching John attempt to make tea.

‘Well… I expect he has some sort of… way of getting in, involving magic or something.’ John replied, grimacing at the frankly rubbish explanation.

‘Isn’t that breaking and entering?’ Hamish blinked innocently, discarding the sweet and jumping down from the table.

‘It doesn’t count, he’s Santa.’

‘But-' protested Hamish, wiping his sticky hands on his jumper.

John looked around helplessly, struggling to find a way to appease his son. Hamish had somehow reached the age where he questioned everything, years before the average child. John blamed Sherlock.

Right on cue, Sherlock swept through the door. There was a small bruise forming on his cheek and his shoes were coated with mud, but he was otherwise unscathed. His husband breathed a sigh of relief- the case had been relatively simple, then. Sherlock moved to perch in his chair, fingers steepled, ready to get lost in his thoughts. Unfortunately for Sherlock, Hamish seemed to take his father’s silence as an invitation to ask questions.

‘Father- why hasn’t Santa been arrested?’

Sherlock looked at his son in confusion. Somehow, even after having five years to get used to having Hamish around, he hadn’t managed to get used to the surprise of having unexpected questions or tasks thrust upon him.

‘Why is Father Christmas being arrested?’ questioned Sherlock, glancing at his son, who was dismantling a fairly unstable pile of books. John grabbed the heaviest books off the top of the tower and (satisfied that the books wouldn’t kill Hamish) went back to trying to operate the oven.

‘He’s been breaking and entering into people’s houses.’

‘Ahh…’

‘Isn’t that illegal, Father?’ The books crashed to the floor and Hamish began stacking them up again. Sherlock could almost feel John willing him to go along with the universal lie that parents told their children: that an old man with a beard delivered them presents every year. He didn’t understand it, but he supposed that if it made John and Hamish happy, then he would comply with their good intentioned delusions.

‘What’s he been breaking?’

‘Nothing, I suppose,’ Hamish considered, wrinkling his nose. ‘Can you be arrested for just entering?’

‘Without permission, yes. It’s called trespassing.’

‘Trespassing…’ repeated Hamish, filing away the information for use at a later date. ‘But, if I want him to give us presents, then that’s okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I don’t want Santa to get arrested- I don’t think Mrs Claus can afford the bail.’ Hamish smiled slightly, seemingly satisfied with the knowledge that Uncle Lestrade wasn’t going to turn up on Christmas Eve and arrest Santa just as he was eating his mince pies.

‘Or the elves…’ smirked Sherlock, pulling John’s laptop onto his lap. He could hear John laughing quietly in the kitchen. Apparently, he had successfully answered all the difficult questions.

‘Don’t be silly, Father. There aren’t such things as elves. We’d know about it, if there were.’ Sherlock stared at his son in disbelief- how could children believe in a present giving recluse, who flew around the world in a night, in a sleigh pulled by magical reindeer, and not in elves?

For a while, they sat there, Sherlock investigating another basic case, and Hamish attempting to read one of John’s books on medicine, only interrupted by John’s muffled curses as their dinner slowly burnt. However, just as Sherlock finally relaxed and was almost certain that there would be no more impossible questions tonight, Hamish spoke again:

‘Father, could he be arrested for Drink Driving?’

‘Why in the name of sanity, would he be arrested for _Drink Driving_?’ Sherlock sighed, rubbing his temples. He would never understand the way small childrens' minds worked.

‘Well, most people’ s parents leave brandy and things out for Santa, rather than milk- or something that doesn't make it dangerous to fly- and so, if too many people left alcohol out for Santa, could he be arrested for Drink Driving?’ enquired Hamish.

‘Perhaps, but Father Christmas flies quite fast, so I don’t suppose he would be caught.’

‘Speeding, then?’

‘Why are you so determined to get Father Christmas locked up?’

‘I’m just wondering why, if other people don’t get away with breaking the law, Santa should.’

‘Because he’s Father Christmas and the Police Force would get a lot of complaints if their children didn’t get their presents.’

‘It’s not really fair though, is it?’

‘No, Hamish it’s not, but that’s the way Christmas works.’

‘Really? Well, that’s a bit stupid.’

‘It is a bit, but if it makes people happy, then that’s how it’ll stay.’

‘Oh, okay then!’ smiled Hamish, running off to go pester John about his tea. Sherlock sighed in relief. He had always taught his son to ask questions, but that was one conversation he was not in a hurry to repeat.


End file.
